


Three Times Ron Weasley Tinkered with Harry’s Glasses and One Time Harry Caught Him

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron is obsessed with Harry’s glasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times Ron Weasley Tinkered with Harry’s Glasses and One Time Harry Caught Him

**Author's Note:**

> This story took an unexpected left turn into drama-land off of the comedy highway. Thanks and love to my awesome and lovely beta readers, [](http://aome.livejournal.com/profile)[**aome**](http://aome.livejournal.com/) and [](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/profile)[**magicofisis**](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/) who always find my mistakes and make my stories so much better. Any remaining errors are mine alone. Dedicated to all us who wear glasses. We are sexy beasts!
> 
> Written for the HPRWFQF on LJ, 2009

I.

The first thing Ron Weasley noticed about the skinny kid with wild, black hair, besides, of course, the skinniness and hair, were the glasses. Not that he was wearing glasses; that wasn’t any big deal. Percy wore glasses, though his were the kind that made you think of owls and accountants and academics, though he wasn’t quite sure what an accountant was, but that’s what Bill had said. No, the skinny kid was wearing these perfectly round, black frame—and to be honest—ugly glasses with a piece of sellotape on the nose piece. The taped glasses made the kid look even more raggedy than he already did in his ill-fitting and torn clothing. Ron didn’t mind that bit; his own clothes were third- and fourth-generation hand-me-downs, so the cuffs were frayed on his jeans as well.

Then he discovered that the skinny kid was none other than Harry Potter himself! He got over the whole “Wow, it’s Harry Potter” feeling pretty quickly, and then he was just Harry from then out—the skinny kid with wild black hair and the ugliest glasses on the face of the planet, even after that know-it-all Hermione Granger had fixed them so the tape wasn’t needed.

“How long have you had your glasses?” Ron asked one night, as he and Harry were getting ready for bed in Gryffindor Tower.

Harry shrugged. “Since I started school. Someone from the health service came around and gave everyone an eye test first year, and that’s when they discovered why I couldn’t read or write very well. I couldn’t see anything very close in front of me.”

“But why’d you pick those frames?”

“My aunt and uncle refused to take me to an optical shop, so my teacher called the eye people and this is what they gave me.” He shrugged. “They work.”

Harry put the ugly round glasses on his bedside table, and closed the curtains. “G’night, Ron.”  
  “Night.”

Ron lay back on his bed but couldn’t sleep. He quietly sat up and slid his feet to the floor. He found himself beside Harry’s table, and there they were, the ugly round glasses. He picked them up, folded the stems and turned them over in his hand. He unfolded the stems again and, for some reason that he couldn’t explain then, he put them on. The first thing he noticed was how heavy they were. The frames and lenses sat on his nose, pressing uncomfortably into flesh and bone. He looked out of the window and that was when he noticed how scratched up the lenses were. _How in Merlin’s name does he see out of these things?_

Ron knew what he needed to do. He quietly returned to his cabinet, and pulled out his school books. Selecting his Charms book and the copy of _Mrs. Skeezit’s Manual for Cleaning Just About Anything_ his mother had so helpfully put into his trunk, Ron carefully got back into bed. He searched through both books for the right charm—ah, ha! There it was. He knew he’d seen Percy do something of the sort.

 _”Clarify!_ ”

The scratches on Harry’s glasses disappeared instantly. Ron put them back on his nose; they were still very heavy, but at least the lenses were crystal clear. That’s when Ron noticed he couldn’t see much of anything. “Harry, mate, you are blind as a bat,” he said under his breath.

And, just as quietly, he replaced Harry’s glasses on the bedside table.

It took Harry a week to notice he could see more clearly.

II.

Ron woke with a start. Something was different . . . _Quidditch match, Luna commentating, Harry being Levitated into the hospital wing. . ._

Harry lay still as death in the bed next to him. He’d been injured in the match against Hufflepuff; though his skull fracture had been mended, Madam Pomfrey had had to knock him out with a Dreamless Sleep potion just to keep him in bed and quiet. He’d wanted to get up to kill McLaggan, the git who had put him in here, something Ron had heartily agreed with.

Ron closed his eyes, trying to find sleep again, but his mind kept whirling back to the match. He sat up and looked around, scratching his hair. That’s when he noticed—“Phew! Need a shower.” Not that he was overly concerned about the smell. But as he sat on the edge of the bed, he noticed Harry’s glasses on the small bedside table.

Again, for what seemed to be the thousandth time since he’d met Harry, he picked them up and put them on his face. Once, he’d found the weight on his nose uncomfortable; but now, having had them perched there many, many times, he rather enjoyed it. Enjoyed it because it was what Harry felt, saw what Harry saw. _Well, kind of._ He could hear Hermione’s scolding voice in his head: _This is just your unconscious desire to be Harry. To have his fame. To be noticed._ Ron scowled. It wasn’t that he wanted to _be_ Harry. He just . . .well, he wasn’t quite sure what it was that drove him to fixate on Harry’s specs. He didn’t want to wear glasses, Merlin, no! What a pain in the arse they were, always fogging up, getting dirty. When it rained it was a nightmare (until Hermione taught Harry that neat _Impervious_ charm). It wasn’t that they made anyone look smarter or anything: look at Harry--he looked like a dork in those stupid things.

The lenses were dirty again and, a small piece of grass was lodged in the hinge. Ron smiled because it was so like Harry to neglect the care of his glasses. He fished out his wand from under his pillow and was going to clean them when he was struck with a very interesting idea.

He hopped out of bed and decided that four o’clock in the morning wasn’t such a bad time for a shower; he’d slept enough during the day, and felt somewhat energized now that he had a larger mission to accomplish than just to wash his stinking body.

The hospital wing lav was fairly large and featured a huge claw-footed bathtub with high sides. Ron cast a Locking charm and a Silencing charm so as not to awaken the ever-vigilant Madam Pomfrey. He quickly slipped out of his pyjamas and stepped into the tub, pulling the shower curtain around him. He turned on the water and, when he had found the right temperature, he turned on the shower.

Hot water cascaded down on his head, and he tilted his face to the stream. Then, he straightened and put Harry’s glasses on. He soaped his body, running his hand and a bar of soap over his skin. It felt so damn good after so many days lying in a bed, feeling wrung out after his near-death experience with the poisoned mead. The water splashed heavily on Harry’s glasses, cleansing them. As Ron looked through the water-spattered lenses, he palmed his erection. Feelings he knew he’d had for ages, years maybe, welled up inside him as he encouraged his cock to full hardness. Through Harry’s blurry glasses, Ron saw clearly now how much he loved his best mate, how much wanted to _be_ with him in all things and in all the days and for all the challenges that would come. He _would_ be there for him, at his side, forever.

As if to seal this commitment, Ron cried out softly as he came. The water swirled around his feet, washing the ejaculate away. But not his vow nor his love.

III.

“OOF!”

“Harry!” Ron cried as Harry fell hard to the ground. Their quarry took advantage of Ron’s distraction and ran off. “Harry, are you all right?” He rushed up to Harry’s side, and then was sickened by the sound of a crunch and the realization that something under his foot had just given way. “Oh, fuck! Fuck, NO!”

Harry rolled over clutching his side. “Damn,” he managed to wheeze. “I can’t believe I let that guy hit me with a tripping charm. Idiot!”

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” Ron moaned, picking up the pieces of Harry’s brand new silver metal frame glasses. “I am so sorry.”

Harry looked up at him and then sat up. “Ow. That hurts,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “What are you on about?”

“Your glasses. I smashed them.” Ron held out the mangled frames and the two halves of one of the lenses. “Damn, I didn’t think plastic would break like that.”

“Ron, are you wizard or not?” Harry said, despite the pain in his head and side. “ _Reparo!_ ” The plastic lens pieces mended together. “ _Reparo!_ The frame straightened, though not perfectly; the repaired lens sat crooked in the frame. “Well, shite. It’s always worked perfectly before.”

“Here, let me try.” Ron examined Harry’s glasses in the light of the street lamp above them. He fiddled with the hinge and the frame. “Oh, there’s a screw missing. You have to have all the parts when you’re repairing something. He pointed his wand at the street beside Harry. “ _Accio_ eyeglasses screw.”

A shiny speck landed in Ron’s hand. “Here it is. _Reparo!_ ” The lens fit perfectly into the frames. Ron fussed over them, touching his wand to each part. When he was finished, Harry’s glasses gleamed as if new.

Harry watched in amusement. “Ron? You finished there?”

Ron squinted as his gave the lenses one final examination. “Oh, yeah. Here.” He handed the glasses back to Harry, who took them and put them on his face. “That should do it.”

Harry looked up at him. He really did look so much better in rectangle shaped glasses than the old round ones, Ron thought. Not that it made one iota of difference in how he felt about his best mate, his lover, and his partner.

“Well, fuck. I certainly blew that apart, didn’t I?” Harry said. “Here, help me up.”

Ron grasped his hand and pulled him up. “C’mon. Let’s go face the music from headquarters.”

IV.

Harry rolled over to escape the first ray of sun shining through the window. He was still a little sore from the last evening’s encounter with the road; what hurt more was the verbal lashing he’d taken from his supervisor for losing the suspect they’d been tailing. Mentally he sighed, and tried to find a cool place on his pillow to sink into and, with any luck, find sleep again.

But the sight of Ron lying beside him with his glasses on made him do a double-take. He’d known for years that Ron had a thing for glasses, well aware that it was Ron who had performed charms that removed the scratches from the lenses and repaired them after Quidditch accidents. He’d never said anything because he didn’t wish to embarrass his mate. He’d been at times taken aback by Ron’s attention, his devotion to keeping his glasses in—he had to admit—pristine condition when he himself didn’t really care. But over the years he developed a silent gratitude to his mate for taking care of him in this way.

“Okay, Ron. This has reached a new level of weirdness even for you,” Harry said, amused.

“Uhmmmm?” Ron murmured.

“You didn’t sleep in my glasses, did you?”

Ron snorted. “Wha--? Oh.” Ron’s eyes popped open. “Oh. Yeah.” His cheeks turned pink. “No, I mean. No, I didn’t. I mean. . . well, fuck. It’s just that—“

Harry stopped him. “It’s all right. Really.” He reached out and plucked the glasses gently from Ron’s face and put them on his. “I think it’s rather sweet that we share the same glasses. You must be as blind as me without them. It’s also completely mental.”

Ron pulled the sheet up over his head. “I dunno why I do it, why I like to wear them.”

Harry chuckled, pulling the sheet down so he could look into Ron’s face. “Well, do you think you need glasses because, you know, you’re getting older and I’m sure your eyes are going.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” Ron huffed and rubbed his eyes. “I think it’s just because they’re just so. . . so you.”

Harry was quiet, then he leant over and kissed him soundly. “Mental. But I love you.”

Smiling, Ron wrapped his long arms around him. “Mental to love you?”

Harry grinned, “That too.” He kissed him again, rolling him so that he was on top. Breaking the kiss, he grasped his glasses and leant over to place them on the table. “I want you to see me. Me, not the glasses.”

Ron nodded. “Just you.” He pulled Harry to him, crushing his lips to his. Passion overtook him as he realized that his long-held secret was no longer between them. He knew Harry respected that secret and still loved him. As that truth slammed home, he was taken aback by the depth of the love Harry had for him. “Love you, too.”

Ron rolled them over slowly so that they were lying side by side, cheek to cheek, legs entangled. Harry ‘s hand held their heads together, his tongue thrusting insistently; Ron’s hand held their cocks, his thumb rubbing the slippery pre-come over the heads. Their lovemaking was like this: give and take, push and pull, neither dominating nor submitting. They had all the time in the world. . . .

Ron felt Harry’s body go rigid and he made desperate, mewling noises in response to Ron’s ministrations. He sped up his hand on their cocks, twisting his hand just the way Harry liked it to encourage his mate. Harry broke their kiss suddenly and exhaled just as Ron’s belly was splashed with warmth. Harry tipped his head back, eyes closed, bliss covering his features. Never able to resist the sight of Harry coming, Ron’s orgasm came in a burst of white stars and tingles that reached to his toes.

As Ron recovered, he felt Harry rise up and then the slight ticklish sensation of a cleaning charm. Harry snuggled up to him again, butting his head against Ron’s chin. Now in their favourite sleeping position, comforted by Harry’s heat, Ron’s mind started to drift.

“I don’t need glasses to see you,” he heard Harry whisper. “You’re always perfectly clear.”

*~*  



End file.
